


The World is Not Enough

by manic_intent



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - James Bond Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, M/M, That James Bond AU where Giovanni is 002, and Lorenzo is an extremely reluctant Bond Girl, who happens to have a blood feud with the Borgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 01:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6882943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rather unsurprisingly, Lorenzo de’ Medici tried to kill him when Giovanni let himself back into the hotel room. Grinning, he ducked the blow with the vase, twisted to the side, grabbed Lorenzo’s wrist on the follow through and jerked it behind the banker’s back.</p><p>Pinning Lorenzo against the wall, Giovanni chuckled. “<i>Signore</i>, calm down, <i>per favore</i>.”</p><p>“This is a kidnapping!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World is Not Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Modern!Giovanni/Lorenzo
> 
> I do have a couple of modern!G/L ‘verses (Foxhound and The World is Not Enough), but I guess the World is Not Enough is truer to form, an AU where Giovanni is in the Italian version of MI6 and Lorenzo is a billionaire from a banking family. I’ve included the original short fic, so skip past that to the continuation if you’ve read it before.

I.

Rather unsurprisingly, Lorenzo de’ Medici tried to kill him when Giovanni let himself back into the hotel room. Grinning, he ducked the blow with the vase, twisted to the side, grabbed Lorenzo’s wrist on the follow through and jerked it behind the banker’s back.

Pinning Lorenzo against the wall, Giovanni chuckled as he replaced the vase on the side table. “ _Signore_ , calm down, _per favore_.”

“This is a kidnapping!”

“I’ve told you, I am trying to save your life.”

“Then let me talk to the police!”

“The police will not be very friendly, I think. Now, are you going to behave or am I going to have to cuff you again?”

“Let go,” Lorenzo snapped, and Giovanni squeezed his wrists lightly before grinning and stepping back, raising his hands palms up in a mock gesture of surrender. “If you wanted a quiet life,” Giovanni added, circling to the window to check the street, “Then you should not have made an enemy of the Borgia.”

“We have a long-standing… _feud_ , with the Borgia.” Lorenzo scowled at him, massaging his wrists. He was not as tall as Giovanni, and broad shoulders made him look stocky rather than elegant, unlike his late brother Giuliano. Lorenzo wore his dark hair cut short over his skull, which made an already unremarkable, patrician face seem more severe. Still, a handsome face would have been ruined on Lorenzo de Medici: his eyes were far too cold, the line of his mouth, too ruthless. 

“’Forever is a promise’,” Giovanni echoed Cosimo de Medici’s now notorious line announcing the powerful Medici banking family’s vendetta against the Borgia syndicate, upon the murder of Piero de’ Medici. “You are all civilians. You should leave the Borgia to AISE.”

“The Medici fear no one.”

“Your brother was assassinated only last year, _signore_.”

“And?”

Giovanni shook his head wryly. _Il Magnifico_ , as the press called him, would not be cowed after all. “Some men would see that as a reason to exercise due caution, not engage in an all out assault on the Borgia’s global financial interests.”

“And how does this concern AISE?” Giovanni arched an eyebrow, but Lorenzo merely sniffed. “Where else could you be from? Besides, two weeks ago your General Santini was introduced to me by a mutual friend. He sought to encourage me to go into hiding. Tch. I told him what I thought of that idea.” 

“If you know that I am from AISE, then you could have been more cooperative, signore,” Giovanni noted dryly. 

“My brother’s assassination taught me one thing, agent, and that was to trust no one. And you have not made a good case for yourself.”

“Once I return you to Italy, you can do what you like.”

“And I have told you that my business in Shanghai has not yet been concluded.” Lorenzo glowered at him, unimpressed. “It is essential that I attend tonight’s private function.” 

“The security-“

“Come along if you want,” Lorenzo interrupted, with a dismissive flick of his hand. “I came to Shanghai to secure an alliance with SinaCo. I will not be leaving until I have tried.”

Giovanni sighed. “ _Signore_ Lorenzo-“

“Get on the phone with General Santini. I want to have a word with him.” 

Despite his reservations, Giovanni found himself pulling out his phone and dialling the encrypted line. This, he could tell wryly, was not about to end well for his blood pressure. 

It took only half an hour for Lorenzo to argue Santini into submission, and at the end of it, Giovanni was grudgingly impressed. _Il Magnifico_ deserved every inch of his fearsome reputation - eventually, Lorenzo stated a curt farewell, and handed the phone over to Giovanni.

“002,” Santini said, sounding resigned. “Go to the function with Lorenzo. See that he survives to return to Italia.”

“Surely you can see that this is going to be a disaster, sir.”

“Ensure that it isn’t.”

Giovanni had to take a few deep breaths after Santini hung up, but at least Lorenzo had the grace not to gloat, instead circling over to the suite’s liqour cabinet. “Scotch?”

“Not while I’m working.”

“Pity.” Lorenzo poured himself a generous measure. “Do you gamble often, Giovanni?”

Santini must have told Lorenzo his name. “I’m not averse to a bit of blackjack now and then, among friends,” Giovanni conceded, a little distracted. He was going to have to review the layout of the Shangri-La. Memorize all the exit routes.

“When you play with a buy in that starts at a hundred thousand euro, you tend to acquire a good instinct for acceptable risk.” Lorenzo tipped back the glass, set it down, then padded towards Giovanni, who stiffened automatically when long, elegant fingers curled into his tie. “And a good instinct for the odds.”

“I’m afraid that I have never had the reason or circumstance to play at high stakes card games, _signore_.” Giovanni was aware that his voice had hitched a fraction higher. Lorenzo was not handsome like his late brother, but he wore power as though it was his birthright, and that - that was electrifying.

“Your loss.” Lorenzo tugged him down, and Giovanni sucked in a tight breath, startled, their lips now an inch apart. “I always play to win.” Before Giovanni could stutter some sort of response, Lorenzo had let go of his tie, padding back towards the window. “When you kidnapped me you forgot my suitcase. I believe it should still be in the Park Hyatt. Fetch it for me.”

It took Giovanni a few slow breaths before he felt recovered enough to reply, dryly, “The Hyatt will be watched. Especially your room.”

“Then, be subtle.” Lorenzo poured himself another measure of scotch. “There is a USB stitched into the lining of my case containing evidence of Borgia involvement with Fen Sheng.”

Giovanni concentrated. “A toxic name in Chinese politics of late.” 

“Exactly. Presented to the right people, it should be sufficient to arrest the Borgia influence in China for now.”

“And you intended to do that at the fundraiser?” 

“Up until you kidnapped me.” 

“So that’s why they sent the Pazzi after you,” Giovanni groaned. “How could you come to Shanghai without some form of security?”

“I did. They were shadowing a body double; they arrived two days before me. A day before I boarded my plane, they disappeared.”

“And you still flew in?”

Lorenzo folded his arms, setting his hip against the cabinet. “The Medici fear no one. Get my suitcase, Giovanni. Perhaps you can be useful after all.”

1.0.

Giovanni had presented Lorenzo with his suitcase minutes before the function, albeit with an ironic flourish. Lorenzo had pretended not to be impressed. His family had never thought much of AISE: their contacts were mostly in AISI, the Italian foreign intelligence service’s local counterpart. Giovanni had been nowhere to be seen during SinaCo’s function, and had materialized as Lorenzo’s driver afterwards.

“What have you done with Alberto?” Lorenzo inquired from the back seat, as the sleek black car pulled away from the Shangri-La. 

“Your normal driver? Nothing. The Borgia? I can imagine. He’s still alive,” Giovanni clarified, as Lorenzo frowned to himself, “But you shouldn’t engage his services any further. He would have delivered you straight to the Borgia. A failsafe, shall we say.” 

“ _Alberto_? He’s been in the service of my family since he was a _child_.”

“If you are surprised, then you do not understand the nature of this war that you have started,” Giovanni said curtly. “All men have their levers, and the Borgia are ruthless. Alberto’s was not difficult to find. He has a daughter.” 

“The Borgia have her?” Lorenzo was horrified. “Then I must-“

“I presume it’s no longer your concern. The Borgia must know by now that Alberto does not have you. They’ll have no use for him or his daughter any longer. If she’s lucky, she might even die.” 

Lorenzo clenched his hands tightly in his lap. “Pull over.”

Cold eyes met Lorenzo’s briefly through the rearview window. “ _Va bene_ , once we are at the airport.”

“Pull over _now, stronzo_.” 

“I had instructions to make sure you did not die during the function and then to make sure that you are returned to Italia unharmed.” 

Giovanni had given Lorenzo back his phone - also with an ironic flourish - after the briefcase, in case of an emergency at the function. Curling his lip, Lorenzo sat back in the car and dialled a number from memory, setting his phone to speaker. In the rearview mirror, Giovanni smirked. “I don’t think that you can presume much further on the General’s patience, _signore_.” 

Rodrigo Borgia picked up on the fifth ring. “Lorenzo. Well, well.” 

Giovanni visibly stiffened. Lorenzo growled, “Rodrigo. I’m on my way to Pudong International in a black sedan against my will. I don’t recognise the make of the car, it’s probably custom. The license plate is-“ 

The rest of his words were cut off in a startled yelp as Giovanni abruptly swerved across two lanes and fetched up sharply in the shoulder of the road. Dizzy from having banged his head against the side of the car, Lorenzo didn’t manage to save his phone in time: Giovanni had uncurled from his seat, grabbing it from him. As Lorenzo rubbed his sore temple, Giovanni swarmed out of the car, and Lorenzo shook his head slowly as he heard the phone being ground into the asphalt. 

Giovanni was rueful as he returned to the car, hands pressed on the wheel. “All right, you troublemaker. I should just let you out here and make you fend for yourself.”

“You’ll probably be fired.” 

“Some days that isn’t as bad as it sounds.” Giovanni sighed. “So, now what? The girl could be anywhere. Or dead. Your driver as well.” 

“Since Rodrigo will now have doubled the Borgia presence at the airport, this seems to be a good time for you to investigate whether they are indeed dead, then.” 

“There are other airports,” Giovanni pointed out, though he let out another sigh, and turned the car back into traffic. “Fine. I will do this _favour_ for you. We find out whether Alberto and the daughter are dead. If they are dead, you behave and come back to Italia.”

“And if they are not dead?”

“AISE cannot work miracles. Your family brought this war on yourselves - and on your retainers.” 

“The Borgia do not call ceasefires. So it is us or them.” 

“So it is,” Giovanni said, resigned. “There is an AISE safehouse an hour away from here. Can I trust you not to cause any _more_ trouble while I contact my people?” 

“We should go back into Shanghai proper.”

“Why, may I ask?”

“I need a change of clothes.” 

“I’ll arrange something once we’re at the safehouse.” 

“ _Certainly_ not,” Lorenzo raised his eyebrows. “Judging by the cut of your suit, it won’t be remotely adequate.” 

“I must have pissed off the General somehow,” Giovanni muttered, even as he took the next turn off the highway. 

“I have a tailor in Shanghai. His address is-“ 

“We’re not going to your tailor,” Giovanni interrupted. “What part of having to lie low do you not understand?” 

“Kai is very discreet.” 

Giovanni’s hands tightened on the wheel. “ _Listen_ , you spoiled princess,” he snapped, though he kept his eyes on the road, “I am _already_ doing you a favour at the expense of my _mission_. So I suggest that you _appreciate_ it. Before I change my mind, drug you, and ship you off to Italia.” 

Lorenzo pretended at an injured silence, checking his cufflinks. The destruction of his phone had activated the tracking chip embedded in them, and as he turned one slightly up to the light, there was a pinprick of blue, winking. Hopefully, Nannina would take the hint. Glancing back up at the rearview mirror, Lorenzo could see that Giovanni was still flushed with anger. Good. Angry men made mistakes. Like forgetting body searches.

Once they were in a quieter stretch of the roads, Giovanni dialled a number, inserting a bluetooth headset into an ear. “L? Yeah. Still alive. Funny,” Giovanni growled, his lip curling. “No… why would you think? No. Yes. Missed the flight. Fuck. You wouldn’t believe it. I need you to check on the location of Alberto and Maria Passo. Yes, yes, _now_. Call me back.” 

“How good is AISE at locating people?” Lorenzo asked skeptically from the back seat. 

“Wait and see.” Giovanni’s eyes flicked up to meet Lorenzo’s in the rearview mirror, still narrowed. “But I can tell you now that it is a waste of time.” 

“Let me tell you about a ‘waste of time’,” Lorenzo retorted evenly. “Nine months ago I gave little Maria Passo a model of a rocking horse. It was her eighth birthday, you see. We pay Alberto well, but not well enough: he is paying alimony, even though Maria lives with him most of the time. In return, in her thank-you note, she wrote me a short story. 

“Her father likely had not told her about the war between my family and the Borgia,” Lorenzo continued, when Giovanni was silent, “But I think she guessed that something had happened. It was not a good story, by the measure of the world: she is a sweet child, but not particularly gifted. A simple ‘thank you’ would have sufficed: writing a story was a ‘waste of time’. But in it she saw the Medici as Knights of the Table, our foes, a dragon that we would overcome. _She_ had absolute faith in the order of her world.” Lorenzo glanced out of the window, at the darkening of the world, sleeting past. “So I have come to slay dragons.”

II.

L pinpointed father and daughter within a couple of hours, though given his well-deserved reputation for procrastination, this probably could’ve been done more quickly, in Giovanni’s opinion. He left Lorenzo in the safehouse after extracting a grudging promise from him to stay put until Giovanni’s return - a promise that Giovanni wasn’t entirely sure that Lorenzo would _keep_. As such, Giovanni was in a foul mood, even after successfully extracting the hostages alive and delivering them to Shanghai’s AISE contact.

Lorenzo stared at him as Giovanni let himself into the safehouse apartment. “Good Lord! Did you set fire to yourself?” 

Giovanni spared the time to shoot Lorenzo a glare as he pulled off his ruined suit, tossing the tie aside. “Don’t ask.” 

“Alberto and Maria?”

“Safe. Alberto needed medical attention. The girl’s mostly just traumatised. AISE will arrange for their return to Italia.” 

“I want proof.” 

Giovanni briefly entertained a fantasy of throttling his mission target to death. “Fine.” He dialled the AISE contact. “Andrea. Yeah. Hand the phone over to the girl.” He tossed the phone over to Lorenzo and folded his arms. 

To Giovanni’s surprise, Lorenzo’s demeanour changed completely. All that ice seemed to melt, his tone going gentle as he asked, “Maria? _Si_ , Lorenzo… yes. A friend of mine. How are you now? Yes, it’s going to be all right.” Giovanni waited, yawning, as Lorenzo spoke to the child, and at the end, Lorenzo handed over the phone without a fight. “Thank you.” Lorenzo offered neutrally. 

Giovanni shrugged. “Now behave,” he said dryly, “ _Per favore_.” In truth, Giovanni was feeling better about the diversion once he showered off the worst of the filth and scrubbed the gunpowder residue off his arms. Missions like these were few and far between for Giovanni. Saving the little girl had felt _good_. Giovanni was more used to death: meeting it, meting it. 

Towelling off, Giovanni wrapped a towel around his hips and emerged from the bathroom into the small bedroom to find Lorenzo leaning against the doorway to the living room, watching. “Like what you see?” Giovanni drawled, as insolently as he could, and Lorenzo’s mouth curled up sharply at one edge as his eyes flicked slowly up. 

“I try not to make judgments without personal experience,” Lorenzo said, darkly amused, still so annoyingly _imperious_ as he strode over. 

His fingertips were cold, and Giovanni shivered as Lorenzo casually twitched the towel off Giovanni’s hips, raising an eyebrow when he saw that Giovanni was already starting to stiffen up. Giovanni bared his teeth in response, too caught by winding lust to care. Lorenzo - imperious, tightly controlled Lorenzo - was _exactly_ Giovanni’s favourite kind of poison. He wouldn’t have gotten under Giovanni’s skin so quickly if he wasn’t. It was obvious that Lorenzo knew this perfectly well. 

Lorenzo spat on his palm, grasping Giovanni confidently as he made a fist that squeezed tight from root to tip, furling then stretching the foreskin tight over the swelling head of Giovanni’s cock. Giovanni reached for Lorenzo’s belt buckle, only for Lorenzo to snort and bat his hand away, and as he angled over for a kiss, Lorenzo turned his cheek, even as his elegant fingers stroked down to the root of Giovanni’s cock.

“I am beginning to think that you still do not like me,” Giovanni was growing breathless as Lorenzo pushed him up against the bedroom wall. In response, Lorenzo rolled his eyes, squeezing down and allowing Giovanni to fuck lazily into his fist, caught in those beautiful soft fingers that had probably never held a gun, never dealt with death. 

“What is there to like?” Lorenzo growled, and pushed a couple of fingers into Giovanni’s mouth before he could respond. 

Giovanni scraped teeth warningly against Lorenzo’s knuckles but started to suck, sloppy and thorough, as fingertips pressed against his tongue; he turned to face the wall and tipped his thighs open when directed, just by touch. The first finger pressed inside Giovanni was tentative, but the second was not, and spit was usually not enough for Giovanni, not like this, and yet - and yet he _groaned_ , as Lorenzo chuckled and bit down, over the back of his neck, groaned and arched his back to take more. Lorenzo pressed a knee against Giovanni’s thigh, keeping him spread, crooking his fingers as his other hand slipped further down to fondle Giovanni’s balls, and Giovanni was stifling his next groan against his arm, trembling. God. 

“If we had time,” Lorenzo began roughly, then cleared his throat, his fingers tucking higher until the tips brushed - _hells, finally_ \- against Giovanni’s prostate, and Lorenzo let out a low chuckle as Giovanni flinched and keened. “If we had time,” Lorenzo said, all velvet now, “I would make you suck my cock first. Make you beg for it first,” he whispered against Giovanni’s ear, so warm and wet. “Then have you swallow anything that I give you.” The third finger, God, it _hurt_ and Giovanni was making gasping, wounded noises as he tried to take Lorenzo _deeper_.

“I wouldn’t let you come,” Lorenzo continued, the only hint of his arousal the faintest of hitches in his voice, as his hand gave Giovanni’s cock a last teasing squeeze before drifting lazily up Giovanni’s belly. “Not even when you please me.” Giovanni let out a harsh yelp as Lorenzo pinched a nipple, playful at first, as though gauging Giovanni’s reaction, then harder, until Giovanni grit out a pained whimper threaded with lust. “Not even when I fuck you open.” Lorenzo’s fingers were rubbing against the sensitive gland with each thrust, grinding in to the knuckles. “Finish inside you,” Lorenzo nipped Giovanni’s ear, and chuckled again as his next breath slipped out as a sob. “Close already?”

“You’re a demon,” Giovanni told Lorenzo ruefully, but he kept his hands on the wall, and let Lorenzo close his elegant fingers lightly around the base of his throat, fighting his instincts. Lorenzo didn’t choke him. He didn’t need to. Bending to Lorenzo’s will felt like Giovanni was falling into old habits, somehow, as though this was a circuit he had woven before, and gladly. He closed his eyes and shut the thought away. Lorenzo took him apart anyway, with embarrassing ease; Giovanni spent himself against the wall with fingers in his mouth and within him, glad that his cries were choked tight. 

Lorenzo picked up the towel as Giovanni leant against the wall, still fighting for air. As the towel was shoved unceremoniously into Giovanni’s hands, Lorenzo disappeared briskly into the bathroom, and the tap turned on. “Romance is dead,” Giovanni called to Lorenzo as he wiped himself down, and he heard Lorenzo sniff disdainfully - even as the door to the safehouse crashed open. 

Masked men in dark kevlar with M16s swept in, snapping commands in _Italian_. Giovanni had left his Walther with his clothes in the bathroom - a mistake - and as he was about to dive through the door, Lorenzo emerged, pointing the Walther steadily at him. A slender woman dressed in a bright red coat and heeled boots squeezed past the men, her dark hair cut into a tight bob, her eyes narrowed as she glanced between Giovanni and Lorenzo. Giovanni had seen her before - on a leaf of images within Lorenzo’s file.

“ _Really_ , brother?” Lucrezia de Medici growled. 

“Good timing,” Lorenzo told her mildly. “Though if he hadn’t been distracted he probably would’ve heard you.” 

“This is the last time that I bother to rescue you,” Lucrezia shot back, aggrieved, and gestured at the others even as she stalked out of the safehouse.

“How did she-“ Giovanni began, and cut himself off as the Walther nudged up under his chin. Lorenzo flicked off the safety, but before Giovanni could react, he was being kissed, roughly, all teeth, until Giovanni's mouth was mauled, blood pressed between them. Then Lorenzo was smirking as he stepped away, licking his lips.

“ _Grazie_ for your assistance, Giovanni. Should you ever be interested in going private… call me.” Lorenzo sketched a mocking bow, and turned to leave, handing the Walther over to the closest guard. 

Once Giovanni was alone, he leaned the back of his skull against the wall and cursed fluidly in three languages until he was hoarse. Then he stalked grumpily over to the bathroom, where he found Lorenzo’s business card on the sink, with a pair of cufflinks. As Giovanni turned one over, a faint blue light winked at him, bright against silver.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent
> 
> I think that concludes all the prompts from that little blitz XD;; Ahh. So much nostalgia after visiting Italy for the first time.


End file.
